


it's not just where you lay your head

by disequilibrium



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Sports, Football | Soccer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 14:39:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4791011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disequilibrium/pseuds/disequilibrium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry chuckles a little.</p><p>“I am. Cry at everything. Sad movies, the lot.”</p><p>Niall smiles.</p><p>“Yeah, I know.”</p><p>And he does know. He’s sort of started to know Harry like the back of his hand. He might even go so far as to say he’s his best friend. And that makes everything else all the more difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's not just where you lay your head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notverypunkofme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notverypunkofme/gifts).



> In which I try to write a story where they play soccer. In which I struggle to finish said story. In which I don't feel like I did said story justice, but hopefully you like it anyway. In which I try to write smut for the first time in my life.
> 
> I didn't manage to include the ice cubes - I fully intended to, and then it didn't feel right in the moment. So I'm very sorry for that. I tried with the aloe. I really appreciate the prompt, though, because it inspired this story and I'm quite proud of it, even if I feel like it could have been done better.
> 
> Anyway, thank you to my beta, Elsie, and happy reading!

It’s the first day of practice. Sweat trickles down the back of his neck, and he cringes at the feeling. His hair is soaked with it, matted against his scalp, plastered against his forehead. His shirt sticks to his back and his chest. Every breath feels like he’s trying to inhale steam over a pot of boiling water. He heaves the air in and out, in and out, clenching his fists tighter. He thought people were exaggerating when they talked about the southern heat. Now, he thinks, they never did it nearly enough justice. It’s excruciating.

“Keep it up, Horan!” someone yells brightly. He recognizes the voice immediately; it’s Liam. Of course it’s Liam. Jogging past him like he’s out on a crisp morning run, chest up, muscles expanding and contracting through his legs. He’s sweating, sure, but he glows with it as he pulls ahead. Niall wonders where the fuck his boundless energy comes from. If he was just born that way, maybe, a beautiful baby with skin perfectly adapted to deal with the relentless sun, tall and broad but still swift and light on his feet.

“Fuck you, Payno,” he mutters through gritted teeth, but it comes out as more of a wheeze, and there’s no real venom behind it. In the short time he’s known him, Niall’s learned to respect Liam. To aspire to be Liam. It helps that Liam’s the nicest guy on the whole planet, that he genuinely wants everyone to do really well and succeed. Yet another thing that makes him impeccable at his job. He’s part of the reason Niall’s even here, instead of back in Detroit doing laps under a flat, grey sky.

He hears more steps come up behind him. This time, though, they’re clumsier, more labored. He can hear him breathing hard before he sees him, though he’s still wearing a wide smile when Niall looks over, eyes narrowed against the brightness of the sky.

“You’ll get used to the heat,” Harry tells him breathlessly, “happens every year, give it a week or two,” he huffs a few times to get more air into his lungs, “drink water ‘til you can’t any more, you’ll be fine.”

Niall remembers Harry’s name and, more specifically, Harry. When everyone went out for drinks the night before last, girls in tight shirts everywhere. Harry was sitting at the bar, knocking back a shot of tequila. Niall had stared at the way his adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed it down, admired the line of his throat. Watched how he sunk his teeth, straight and too white, into his lime. The way his lips closed around it. He’d laughed at the lazy, wasted grin Harry gave him when he caught him looking. He’s got a fucking sweat band on, now, one that Niall stops judging as soon as he remembers the way his eyes are stinging with the perspiration dripping off his forehead.

“Thanks,” he manages, and tries to mean it. Right now, he mostly wants to dunk himself in the deep end of the campus pool and never resurface. At least not until his body gets back down to a temperature that doesn’t threaten enzyme function. Harry looks pleased enough that he’s been listened to and pulls ahead. Niall struggles to push himself forward. He’s supposed to be a forward, have stamina and whatnot. He’s _better_ than the heat.

He manages to match Harry’s pace for the rest of the run, hovering those few steps behind him. He’s absolutely drenched in sweat by the time they finish, and practice has only just started. Coach puts them through seemingly endless drills, barks out orders and suggestions and encouragement and criticism. By they time they finish, Niall’s convinced he’s lost at least ten pounds worth of water weight. He shuffles into the locker room along with the rest of the team, peeling off his soaked shirt as he goes.

“Jesus fucking _Christ_ , can you believe the heat?” someone pipes up, voice echoing off the walls. Over the pounding of the water against the floor in the showers. “I love the ritual of killing the newbies on the first day, Payno, but why do we have to work so damn hard to do it?”

A locker slams, and then Liam’s calm voice replies:

“It’s not a ritual, Tomlinson. It’s _practice_. The first day’s always hard.”

“Fuckin’ A,” the first voice groans. Niall smiles as he connects the voice to the name, tugging his shorts off, balling them up and shoving them into his locker. _Tomlinson, Louis_. Playmaker. Louis is loud and brash but it’s generally in good fun, and he’s got a fantastic head for the game. Niall liked him immediately, when they met. The way he could command a conversation and make everyone laugh, the way he didn’t seem to give a shit what anybody else thought. They’re values Niall wouldn’t mind leeching from him, honestly.

Once he’s shoved his sweaty clothes deep into the recesses of his bag, he makes his way to the showers, positions himself under the scalding water and envisions all the sweat and grime being steamed from his pores. He scrubs his fingers through his hair and sighs. There’s already an ache in his muscles, but it’s a good one. It tells him his body’s readjusting to the pressures of the on-season.

When he’s toweling himself off, Harry appears next to him, already back in his civilian clothes: a loose black t-shirt and grey sweats that hang off his narrow hips. His hair’s down, now, wet curls curling against his cheeks. He’s wearing an easy smile.

“There’s another party tonight, yeah? You coming?”

Niall nods, finding the invitation strange. It’s all anyone’s been talking about since they got off the field. They’re a team, now, a unit. They just do stuff together. It should have been a given that he’s going.

“I’m always in for a few beers,” he flashes a grin at the other boy, doing his best to dry off his hair. Harry nods.

“Good, great.”

His eyes flicker down to Niall’s arms, briefly, and he frowns.

“Got a bit of a sunburn,” he points out. Niall glances over and shrugs at the touch of pink across his biceps, trailing down to his forearms. His cheeks feel hot with it, too, and he knows his nose will be peeling in a few days.

“Yeah, pale skin problems,” he laughs it off. Harry just furrows his brow, nodding.

“Doesn’t look too bad, at least. Make sure you use sunscreen, yeah?”

Niall’s thoroughly confused, now, not quite understanding why this is so important to the other boy. But he gives a little nod, patting at his chest with the towel.

“Right, will do,” he assures him. Then, when Harry keeps hovering, adds, “see you at the pub, then?”

Harry lifts his gaze back to Niall’s, eyes going a bit wide like Niall’s words have startled him somehow. The expression only lasts a second before his smile returns.

“Yeah, for sure. See you.”

He turns and shuffles away. Niall hears him call out after Aiden Grimshaw as he exits the locker room, and then he’s gone. Niall shakes his head to himself, finishes drying off and pulls his clothes on. As he’s leaving, he passes Liam, who gives him a warm smile.

“Good first day?” he asks, as he shoves things haphazardly into his bag. Niall wants to wince at the disorganization, but he doesn’t, just gives the captain a friendly smile.

“Yeah, it was alright. Not used to the heat, but I’ll get there,” he nods. Liam positively beams.

“That’s great! You were good out there, you know. I’m glad you’ve come all the way here. Grew up in Detroit, yeah?”

Niall chuckles, adjusting his bag on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m liking the change in scenery. My body’ll get used to it. It’s a solid team, too, everyone like... meshes.”

He gives a little nod. Liam hums in agreement, tugging the zipper closed.

“We’ve got a great group, gonna have a have a good run this year. I know it,” he tells him with firm optimism, and then stands to his full height, jabbing his thumb back over his shoulder.

“I have to grab Cardle, talk some stuff over with him. But I’ll catch you later, hey? Tonight?”

Niall nods, stepping toward the door and giving him a wave.

“Sure thing, Payno. See you there.”

 

-

 

The party’s good. The next morning, Niall can’t tell whether he’s just that sore from practice or if he somehow fell down a whole flight of stairs last night and doesn’t even remember it. He sits heavily next to Harry in the dining hall, folding his arms on the table, rests his head down and groans loudly. Harry laughs, a sound that’s rough through his throat.  

“Went too hard last night, hey Horan?” he asks. Niall just grumbles in reply. Something bounces off his head, probably a grape. He raises his chin just enough to see who’s sitting across from him. Gives the smug face of Sean Cullen a good, solid glare before resting his cheek back down on his arm.

“I’ll be fine after my pancakes,” he mumbles. Sean chuckles.

“Saw you getting up close and personal with Barbara last night, man. Looked like a good time.”

Harry scoffs beside him, Niall’s not sure why. He remembers Barbara, though, she’s got soft lips and grey-blue eyes and a crooked smile. She laughed a lot at whatever he was saying, and he can vaguely recall getting a kiss on the cheek for his trouble. He can’t say he really wanted anything more.

“We just hung out,” he drags himself into an upright position, pulling his pancakes close. They look a bit flat, but edible. He drowns them in syrup. “She’s nice.”

Sean rolls his eyes.

“ _Nice_ ,” he echoes, like it’s a bad thing. Niall gives his shin a light kick under the table. Sean just makes a face at him and digs back into his omelette, loaded with peppers and cheese. It’s true, though; Barbara _is_ nice, and cute, but Niall doesn’t feel that specific connection with her. He knows Sean’s just taking the piss, anyway; he’s got a long-term girlfriend, one he’s painfully faithful to. The reason he stayed in-state, according to him.

Niall cuts into his pancakes and makes sure to get the piece fully covered in syrup before popping it into his mouth. He glances over at Harry’s plate as he chews, raising his eyebrows. He’s got some whole grain toast and two pieces of bacon and two eggs. And a bowl of fruit. Which is probably where Sean got the grape.

“You on a diet or something?” Niall asks, unable to help himself. Harry looks momentarily offended, furrowing his brow.

“No, it’s a balanced meal! The perfect breakfast, actually. Those pancakes are going to weigh you down all day, you know. You’ll probably get cramps.”

Niall shakes his head, taking another bite of pancake and talking around his mouthful.

“Never got cramps in my life, actually.”                                            

Harry just frowns, lifting his toast. It’s not even buttered.

“You can laugh all you want. I like to take care of my body.”

He bites into the toast, and Niall looks over at Sean. Sean just shakes his head.

“Don’t be surprised when he has salad for lunch. Only reason he’s even eating the dining hall food today is ‘cause he’s too hung over to make his own breakfast. Isn’t that right, Harold?”

Harry just munches on his toast and scowls, pointing between the two of them.

“Fuck you both. Especially you,” he tries to give Sean a hard look, but Sean just snorts and ducks his head, and Niall laughs, clapping Harry gently on the back.

“I know the feeling. At least they’ve got fruit bowls, right?”

Sean almost chokes on his omelette, at that, but Harry seems to take it as a compliment and gives Niall a smile. Niall doesn’t mention the bread crumbs on his teeth.

 

-

 

Niall doesn’t realize Harry’s in his chemistry class until he stumbles into the lab fifteen minutes late and sees him standing at the bench, staring at the door. Harry positively beams when he sees him, already decked out in a proper lab coat and safety goggles with his hair pulled back.

“You know the coats were optional, right?” Niall points out as he hurries over. He tugs off his backpack and shoves it into the cubby beneath the counter, digging out his own safety goggles. Harry’s flipping through the pages of the lab manual, humming like he understands the material.

“I do, but I’m not taking any chances with my clothes. They’re not cheap, you know.”

Niall locates his manual, as well, and straightens back up, looking Harry over.

“Well, alright. But you look like a nerd.”

Harry grins wide.

“Good! Maybe that’ll help me get an A.”

 

-

 

Harry, as it turns out, is absolutely terrible at chemistry.

“I thought this would be cool,” he whines, as Niall struggles to balance the equation for the standardization of thiosulphate, “I thought we’d be like, mixing things up and watching them explode.”

“That would be incredibly dangerous, Harry,” Niall mutters, frowning and looking over his numbers. Something feels off. He scratches out the two in front of the diiodine, and tries to count up the amount of each element in his head. Harry sighs.

“I don’t even know what the point of that was,” he groans. Niall glances up at him, unamused. When Harry frowns in confusion, Niall points to the top of the lab report where he’s written the purpose for the experiment in neat, clear lettering. Harry leans to read it, crowding into Niall’s space. Niall sighs quietly, but doesn’t move.  He writes a ‘3’ in front of diiodine instead.

“To determine the exact concentration of thiosulphate in solution using the titration method,” Harry mutters, then nods. “Yeah, makes sense.”

He doesn’t move away. Niall can feel his breath against the side of his neck. He gives him a minute or so, then looks around at their bench, raising an eyebrow.

“Harry, could you at least help clean up the station? I’m starving, and if you’re not going to help me do the report…”

Harry straightens up.            

“Oh, right!”

He sets about collecting the beakers and dismantling the pipette stand. Niall shakes his head, going back to the report. None of this stuff feels relevant to kinesiology, but it’s one of the required courses, and he knows it could be worse. He could have Harry’s attention span, for example.

Once they’ve finished cleaning up and Harry’s copied all of Niall’s answers, they hand in their reports and head off across campus. Niall’s stomach is growling. When they said four hour lab, he assumed it would usually be done, like, two hours early. This is not the case. It’s almost five, when they finally reach the res buildings. Niall’s about to head off to the dining hall when Harry grabs his arm.

“I was gonna make chicken for dinner. I have enough for two, if you wanna come hang out?”

Niall has a moment of indecision, because he’s quite hungry and he doesn’t want to _wait_ for food and he doesn’t really know much about Harry’s cooking. Except that he’s obsessed with “clean eating”, of course. On the other hand, it could be nice to try a change. And he does enjoy Harry’s company, even when he’s being annoying and needy. He shrugs.

“Alright, I guess.”

Harry smiles brightly again.

“Great! I’m in the middle building!”

He pulls Niall along, hand still curled around his bicep. Niall tries his best to casually shrug him off, but Harry is either completely oblivious to his efforts or pretending to be, and Niall eventually gives up.

 

-

 

Harry’s dorm is the same size as his, also a single, just big enough for one twin bed and a desk and a mini fridge. Harry grabs what he needs from it and they head off to the common area. Niall leans against the counter while Harry sets everything up, helps him hunt down a non-stick pan. Harry won’t let him do much else, even though Niall assures him he’s cooked his own food before, so Niall just watches as he chops up the veggies. The chicken’s already in a bag, marinating, which leaves him mildly impressed. It doesn’t take very long to cook, and when it’s finally done and they’re sitting side by side on the sofa enjoying their meal, Niall’s especially thankful he decided to say yes.

“I know we love teasing you about what you eat, but this is actually delicious,” he admits. Harry looks incredibly pleased, poking his fork into various veggies and taking a big bite. He sticks his tongue out as he opens his mouth, every single time. It makes him look sort of like a giraffe, Niall thinks, like how a giraffe must eat.

“I keep telling them to try it! You’re the only one who’s agreed, so far,” he reveals. It’s a big tragic, to think that Harry’s been inviting people over for the past week and only Niall’s been brave enough to say yes. But Harry doesn’t sound too upset about it. So Niall laughs, giving him a little nudge with his arm.

“You can pay me back by giving me good passes on the field, let me have a few glory moments.”

Harry chuckles, slicing off a bit of chicken.

“Yeah, ‘course. You’re my go-to out there, anyway.”

He says it simply, matter-of-fact, and Niall knows that’s pretty much how the game’s played. It’s his job to bring the ball to the net. But it still makes him feel a bit touched, to think Harry’d look out for him to make the pass to before anyone else. Harry chews thoughtfully for a moment, leaning back.

“I think we’ll make a good team out there, me and you. I can just feel it, you know? Like, we’ve got a good connection.”

Niall’s not exactly sure what he’s talking about, but he decides he doesn’t mind the sound of it. Everyone on the team’s got a decent connection, even if they rib at each other constantly. Out on the field, things come together smoothly. Niall supposes he generally has a good sense of what Harry’s going to do, though he just assumed Harry’s one of those players who’s easy to read once you get used to their style.

“Yeah,” he agrees for Harry’s sake, nodding seriously, “we’re gonna do good things. Win a few games. Bring home a championship or two.”

Harry grins, glancing up at him. His eyes are so warm and friendly that Niall can’t help but smile back. He feels strangely fond of this boy, even if he’s got quirks out the arse and his hair’s ridiculous. Harry’s the sort who makes you feel comfortable enough to poke fun at him, while somehow demanding respect at the same time. Niall can see it out on the field when they’re in practice and he can see it, now. Harry’s the kind of guy you want on your side, the kind of guy who tends to be part of the winning team.

 

-

 

Everyone becomes tighter as the season wears on. Niall’s body goes from aching at the sound of the alarm clock in the morning to craving every practice, the thrill of every game. He lives and breathes soccer, powers through his homework so he can get back to studying plays, hitting the gym. He watches all of the other college games on the TV in the common room, squeezed together with his team mates on the couches, dissecting the strengths and weaknesses of the other teams, discussing what could’ve been done differently.

It’s Harry he bonds with the most, though. Harry who comes over late to rewatch old games on his laptop, Harry who lets him ramble on about his favourite players in all of history, the best plays, the most iconic moments. In return, Niall begrudgingly sits through every single one of Harry’s favourite sports-related movies: Rudy, Fever Pitch, Bend it like Beckham, The Longest Yard. “I always wanted that, you know?” Harry tells him every time, once the credits are done and they’ve eaten their weight in popcorn, “to get the winning goal, have everyone cheering for me. That’s why I love sports. I love the winning.” Niall always chuckles at him, the way his eyes go all dreamy when he talks about it. “Maybe you’ll get one of those,” he muses, usually wiping popcorn crumbs off his shirt and onto Harry’s floor, “the rest of us’ll be tied up and you’ll have a clear shot at goal, and you’ll be the hero. It has to happen at least once.” And then Harry gets mad at him and tries to make him sweep, and Niall does it but mostly tries to sweep Harry, and they usually end up fighting over the broom and dissolving into fits of laughter that they pray aren’t too annoying through the paper-thin dorm room walls.

On the field, they operate in sync. Niall feels like he knows what Harry’s going to do before he does it. More and more, he ends up exactly where he needs to be, catching the pass, taking it toward the goal. When they’re not on the field they huddle together on the bench, watch Liam launch the ball across the field, watch Louis’ eyes flash around in the split second before he makes a decision about the best path to the goal. Niall grabs at Harry a second before Aiden kicks the ball toward the net, sending it curving into the top left corner, just inches above the goalkeeper’s fingertips. All but leaps on him when they realize they won the game.

 

-

 

It’s the week before midterms start up that Harry barges into Niall’s dorm. Niall’s become used to it, honestly. Harry just doesn’t like knocking, would rather catch you in the middle of whatever you’re doing and blame you for not locking the door. Niall closes his Kin notes when he hears him, spins in the desk chair and raises an eyebrow at the intruder leaning in the doorway.

“Wanna come out to the field? Do some drills and stuff?”          

It’s not necessarily that they _need_ the extra practice; more that Harry’s bored out of his wits and gone stir crazy from studying, and Niall feels about the same. Feels a restless itch beneath his skin, hasn’t been able to sit quite still since he got back from class. He grabs the soccer ball off his desk and hops up, not bothering to voice his answer. Harry grins, and starts off down the hall.

They kick it back and forth, for a while. Not so much practicing anything as enjoying the solid feeling of the ball against their feet. It’s easy, like this. No coach watching like a hawk from the sideline. No crowd leering at them. The night is cool. When Niall gets bored of passing, he takes the ball and starts dribbling away – ends up flying across the field, feels his heart in his chest, his breath in his lungs, savours the feeling of the air against his skin.

“Hey!” Harry hollers after him. Niall laughs, loudly. It rings out into the evening sky. He heads for the goal end, knows Harry will be close behind. Kicks the ball right before the other boy reaches him. Harry slides in an attempt to stop it, but he mostly sets Niall off balance and they both end up on the ground, laughing breathlessly, struggling to untangle their legs.

“Can see why they didn’t put you on defense,” Niall pants, finally getting himself loose. Harry’s sprawled out on his back, and when Niall looks at him there’s a moment where he can’t tear his gaze away. He watches the way Harry’s chest rises and falls, catches his eyes, sees how bright they are – how alive. It makes Niall’s chest ache with a fondness he doesn’t quite understand. He stretches out next to him, forces himself to blink up at the sky instead. It looks pitch black beyond the lights.

“Nah, it’s not my strongest suit,” Harry agrees. He shifts a little, and Niall can feel the weight of his gaze against the side of his head. He doesn’t look back at him, though. Just smiles a little, tugging at a bit of grass. It’s all he can smell, the grass. Harry shakes his head.

“You should’ve seen me, when I first tried out in high school. I think they let me on the team out of pity, honestly. I barely played the first two years. But you know, my mom always said you’ll get out what you put in, so I just kept working at it.”

He sounds so proud. Niall laughs quietly.

“Your mom sounds like a good woman.”

He glances over in time to catch Harry’s grin.

“Yeah. She always supported me. I got called a mama’s boy a lot, growing up, but I didn’t mind. When we started winning those games, people gave it up.” He looks smug, now, at the memory of proving them all wrong. Niall chuckles again, shaking his head.

“S’alright. My dad was that for me, in soccer. He used to play in, too, back in Ireland. I grew up watching games. I wanted to be just like them on the TV, and he had me kicking soccer balls around when I could barely walk.”

He stretches his arms out over his head, allowing himself a moment to enjoy the memory. His dad loves to tell him about Ireland, about the rolling hills and the sea and the little town where he used to live. His voice goes soft, when he talks about it, and Niall thinks that might be what he likes most about Ireland. The way his dad loves it so much. He’s always saying they’ll go back, one day. When they have the money. But between living expenses and raising two kids and now the cost of college, the dream still seems a long way off. Sometimes, Niall misses Ireland more than he misses Detroit, even if he’d never been there for himself. Like his dad’s homesickness has somehow imprinted itself on his chest, just underneath his ribcage where only his heart can see it. It’s a strange feeling, a yearning he’s never quite been able to place. Beside him, Harry frowns thoughtfully, scratches his chin.

“You know what’s weird? People don’t call anyone a daddy’s boy. Like, if he’d been your mom, you probably would’ve been the same as me. But ‘cause he’s your dad, it’s fine.”

Niall hums thoughtfully. It takes him a moment to figure out what Harry’s talking about, to pull himself from his thoughts of home and what home means.

“Suppose you’re right…”

He shifts a little, eyeing Harry. Fully expects one of his rants, now. Harry catches his look and his lips pull into a slow grin, and he rolls onto his side, facing Niall.

“And _while_ we’re on the topic of gender inequality –”

Niall can tell he’s joking by the gleam in his eye, and he reaches to shove at his shoulder, trying to push him back down.

“Shut up,” he groans. It’s not like he doesn’t agree with everything Harry says. Just that he’s heard it a thousand times, and personally he doesn’t think talking about it is doing much to change the situation.

Harry chuckles, settling back against the grass.

“Nah, I’ll spare you. This time.”

Niall gets comfy again, too. Doesn’t say anything, because it feels like one of those moments where the silence wants in, where it wants to settle over everything like a warm blanket, leave the rest to the electric buzz of the lights. The distant sounds of the highway. Harry sighs, quietly. When Niall peeks over again, he’s closed his eyes. He looks so peaceful, like that, dark curls framing his face. Niall wonders what he’s thinking about, if anything. If Harry misses home, too. If he misses his mom. He must, Niall thinks, the way he talks about her. They’re both so far from family for the first time in their lives, thrown into this strange new world of parties and grown up decisions. Soccer’s the only thing that feels familiar to Niall, sometimes. When he’s getting properly sorry for himself, it’s the only thing that helps cheer him up. Maybe that’s part of why Harry asked him out here, too. Because exams are scary and classes are hard and they don’t know what to expect and it’s easy, to want your mom when things get tough like that. His heart goes out to him, a little. Their hands are just inches apart, and when the quiet’s gone on too long Niall reaches to nudge Harry’s pinkie with his own, smiling warmly when his friend’s eyes blink open. Harry laughs a little. Hooks his pinkie around Niall’s.

“Hey,” Niall complains quietly. He tries, barely, to get it free. Harry tightens his grip.

“Hi.”

He’s looking at Niall, and his eyes are soft. They’re closer than Niall realized. If he leaned in, he could kiss Harry. Nobody’s going to be around, this late. He could kiss him for hours and nobody would ever have to know. He considers it. Glances at Harry’s lips. They’re soft, inviting. He thinks it would make them both feel better, feel more like home somehow.

But something inside of him says no.

He rests his head back down, instead. Tries to imagine what the stars would look like if they could see them. Tries not to think about anything beyond that.

 

-

 

Things fluctuate, after that. Niall tries to ignore the feeling when it comes, when Harry laughs and leans into him and he just wants to wrap his arms around him. It’s not especially new; he’s known he’s interested in boys for a while. It’s not even the first time he’s fallen for a team mate, except it didn’t go so well the last time and Niall can’t let that happen again. It was his best friend, back in Detroit, and Niall’d started thinking about kissing him. Only that time, he’d done it, and suddenly he’d found himself out on the front step with the door slammed in his face. Things had gone downhill from there. He’d almost quit soccer entirely, and it was his dad who’d talked him out of doing that. He knew he was lucky, when the acceptance letter came, and as far as he was concerned it was a second chance, a brand new beginning. An opportunity to learn from his mistakes. In a twisted way, he thought going south might dissuade him from doing anything so stupid again. Apparently, though, his heart has other ideas. He resolves to not let it win this time, though. He wants to stay on the team. Wants them to like him for who he is, not give him the cold shoulder because of his sexuality.

He tries to distance himself from Harry, eventually. When he gets so anxious about it that he starts waking up in the middle of the night, struggling for air. Hangs out with Sean more, and Louis. Goes out to the pub and gets hammered a couple times, just for the heck of it. Part of the university experience, anyway. He’s careful not to look at Harry in the shower. Careful not to look at him unless they’re having a direct conversation. He can tell Harry knows something’s going on. He always hovers close to Niall during chemistry, but he doesn’t joke around so much. Just watches him with a worried little frown, worried eyes that almost break Niall’s heart. Niall tries to keep things light, easy. Tries not to make it too obvious what he’s doing. Harry’s smarter than that, though; Niall can feel his eyes boring holes in his back when he hurries off after lab without waiting for him. He tries to shower faster after practice, get his things packed before Harry’s done. They still work together on the field, but it’s not the same. And then he starts to miss Harry. Misses him the same way he misses home; the warm, familiar smell that always hit him when he walked in the front door, the feeling of the living room carpet under his toes, the quiet hum of the refrigerator on sunny afternoons. The sound of his dad’s keys turning in the lock after a long day at work. They way he always fell asleep in the middle of watching the 6 o’clock news. It feels like there’s a little chunk missing from his life.

Harry manages to corner him, finally, as packing his bag. Hasn’t even showered yet, like he was waiting to sneak up on Niall. Niall gives him a quick smile, folding up his jersey.

“Hey,” he greets him. Harry’s face stays stony, serious.

“Can we talk?” he asks.  Niall furrows his brow, pretends to be confused.

“Um, I’m supposed to meet Barb in the library, go over some things for the exam…”

Harry gives him a pained look, dragging his hand through his hair.

“Why’re you avoiding me, Niall? What’d I do?” he asks quietly, but there’s a sort of desperation in his voice and Niall knows he can’t go on doing this to Harry. Realizes, suddenly, that it was incredibly selfish in the first place. He straightens up. Harry leans to block his path, like he’s afraid Niall’s going to try to brush past him. “ _Please_.”

Niall sighs. He looks around. Most of the guys are still in there.

“Can we walk and talk?” he asks quietly. Harry frowns.

“I haven’t even washed my hair yet.”

Niall groans, reaching to give him a gentle push toward the exit.

“At least let’s go to the hall, alright?”

Harry gives in, shuffles out of the locker room and down the corridor a ways. When they stop, he turns back to Niall. His face has gone all mopey.

“I miss talking to you,” Harry mumbles, “I don’t know what I did.”

Niall feels terrible, seeing the way he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Feels terrible to realize that Harry thinks all of this is _his_ fault. He pulls Harry into a hug, rubs his back and wishes he could just see him as a friend. Wills himself to do it, to stop thinking there could be more between them. It’s like he can’t win. Go for it, and the friendship goes up in flames. Try to avoid it, and everything starts to crumble and break.

“You didn’t do anything,” he assures him softly. Harry squeezes him tighter, leans into him.

“What’s going on, then?”

Niall wishes he could tell him. Thinks Harry would probably understand. But there’s still that little worry in the back of his mind that tells him he might not, and he can’t even imagine what it would be like, if Harry refused to speak to him ever again. He doesn’t think he could make it through that whole ordeal a second time, especially if Harry told the whole team. Especially if things played out like they did before.

“I’m sorry. I guess I just… felt like I was spending too much time with you, not connecting with the other boys.”

He knows it’s a weak excuse. So does Harry.

“That’s not it,” he tells Niall firmly, and when he pulls back from the hug his eyes are sharp, searching. Niall shakes his head, lowers his gaze. He just can’t get the words out, to tell him what’s really going on.

“It’s the best I got,” he replies. He releases Harry slowly. Immediately wants to hold him again.

Harry doesn’t look satisfied, but by some miracle he doesn’t question Niall further. He’s still sad, though. Niall can see it in his eyes, the downward turn of his lips. He shifts closer, wraps his arm around him. Harry slumps against him, almost in relief.

“I promise it’s nothing to do with you,” Niall murmurs. Because he knows how Harry can get, when things aren’t explained properly. Harry nods a little, lowers his voice to a whisper.

“Okay. I was just worried. I called my mom, and she said to talk to you. And then I started missing her, and then I felt stupid because I’m supposed to’ve outgrown stuff like that. And I just wanted to see you, but I thought you were mad at me. But you’re not. So, that’s good.”

Niall frowns, gives him a little squeeze.

“Nah, I’m not. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…. “ he drifts off, shakes his head to himself, “I was just being stupid, honestly. It was stupid.”

Harry nods a little. Niall laughs quietly, and Harry smiles.

“I get homesick, too, if that helps,” Niall admits, resting his cheek against Harry’s shoulder. It feels good, to say it out loud. To not have to pretend that he’s got it all together, like everyone else seems to. “Sometimes, after I talk to my dad, I just want to cry. And I’m not even a big crier, about stuff like that.”

Harry chuckles a little.

“I am. Cry at everything. Sad movies, the lot.”

Niall smiles.

“Yeah, I know.”

And he does know. He’s sort of started to know Harry like the back of his hand. He might even go so far as to say he’s his best friend. And that makes everything else all the more difficult.

 

-

 

It’s a long, grueling game. Hardly anyone scores, they just go back and forth and back and forth. As soon as one team pulls ahead, the other catches up, and vice versa. And the sun beats down with a vengeance. Niall’s slumped on the bench, hands curled around the edge of it, eyes closed against the heat. He can feel it seeping into the back of his neck, the tips of his ears. Harry’s beside him, eyes dark, a sheen of sweat over his face.

 “Kill ‘em,” he mutters, as Matt Cardle blocks another pass and sends the ball hurtling off down the field. The other team intercepts it, though, again. It’s like they’re in a deadlock. Harry’s got this really intense look, like he’s about ready to go out there and end the game himself. Harry’s a delight most of the time, but when you get him out there on the sidelines… well, he’s going to win or die trying. Even if he’s not playing.

“Wish I’d brought that sunscreen,” Niall mutters, stretching back again. They arrived yesterday, did some warm-ups on the field, got acquainted with it. But he made the mistake of pulling his shirt off and now he’s paying for it; his skin itches where the fabric of his uniform rubs against it, over his shoulders and back and chest. It’s killing him, almost as much as watching this game. Harry doesn’t seem to hear his complaint. He’s still staring at the field, letting out a breath when their team takes back possession of the ball.

 

-

 

They win, but it’s by a small margin. There’s not much celebration in the locker room – just a sense of relief that the game is over, a heavy anticipation for what lies ahead. Niall hisses as he pulls his shirt off, stepping to inspect his back in the mirror. It’s bright red and angry. Harry lets out a low whistle as he goes by.

“Better get some aloe on that,” he suggests. Niall turns, following him to the showers.

“Didn’t think to bring any aloe. Shit,” he hits the button for the water, ducks his head under the spray. At least it eases the stinging for the moment. Harry rinses out his hair beside him. He’s lucky, tanned dark from his time in the sun. Never burns.

“Put a cool cloth on it, then,” Louis steps up on his other side. He’s probably got a lot to do with their win, today, but he hasn’t gloated about it once. Niall wants to tell him good job, but he has a feeling Louis knows it all the same.

“Might have to,” he grumbles. They fall into silence after that, thoroughly exhausted. Niall stays in the shower long after Harry and Louis and the rest of them have finished, shuffles out to find the locker room mostly empty. He’s starting to feel woozy, light-headed. He chugs the rest of his water and slowly packs his things. Harry appears a moment or so later, towel wrapped comically around his head. Niall huffs out a laugh.

“Living up to your name, Styles,” he comments. Harry rolls his eyes.

“Lame. Heard it a billion times.”

Niall just shrugs, still chuckling. He probably has heat stroke, anyway, he can’t be expected to make good jokes. He pulls his bag over his shoulder, trying not to wince at the way it aggravates the burn.

“I’m knackered,” Harry complains, yanking his locker open. Niall nods, making sure he has everything he came with.

“Same. Think I’m just gonna head back to the hotel and pass out.”

Harry nods, making a sound of agreement. Niall steps past, tries to knock the towel off his head as he goes.

“Oy!” Harry squawks, reaching to fix it. Niall just laughs, gives him a wave as he heads toward the exit.

“See you back there.”

 

-

 

Niall’s sprawled out on the bed, a cool cloth over his back, half asleep when Harry finally returns

.

“Look what I have!” he exclaims, with no regard for the way Niall’s clearly trying to relax. He peeks an eye open, pushes himself up a little when he sees the bottle of aloe in his team mate’s hands.

“Oh thank god,” he groans, reaching weakly for it. Harry walks right past his outstretched hand, dropping his bag on his bed.

“No, I’ll put it on for you. Just sit up.”

Niall sighs, pulling the towel off his back and pushing himself up slowly.

“I could do it,” he grumbles, mostly for his own benefit. He knows Harry’s made up his mind from the tone in his voice. Also knows he doesn’t have that kind of flexibility. Harry crawls onto the bed behind him, uncapping the bottle. It makes a rude sound when he squirts it into his hand, and Niall snorts. Harry pretends not to notice.

“It’s gonna be cold, so just…. brace for it,” he suggests. Niall rolls his eyes, hunching over himself more.

“Alright, Harry. I’m braced.”

Harry ignores his sarcasm. Niall can feel the mattress dip when he shifts closer. He closes his eyes, takes in a quiet breath when he feels Harry’s hands. It’s at once painful and relieving, the cool feeling of the aloe against his heated skin. He lets out a quiet groan as Harry spreads it slowly over his back. Harry pauses, for a moment, and then he continues, fingers trailing down Niall’s spine, up over his shoulder blades. When he reaches Niall’s shoulders, Niall hisses involuntarily; that’s where the worst of the burn is.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles. Niall shakes his head.

“S’fine,” he reassures him, “feels better already.”

Harry pulls back to put more aloe on his hands. The air suddenly feels very heavy. Niall shifts uncomfortably, glances back over his shoulder when Harry takes too long to start up again. He finds Harry staring at his back with a deeply thoughtful expression, but the other boy quickly lifts his gaze when he realizes Niall’s looking at him, giving him a little smile.

“Sorry, just thinking,” he explains, reaching for his shoulders again. Niall gives a little nod, ducking his head back down. He grunts as Harry touches his shoulders again, hands so much colder now. Harry spreads the aloe slowly, fingers pressing carefully against his skin. It isn’t entirely comfortable, but isn’t entirely painful, either. It feels oddly nice. Niall tries not to think about the way he’s relaxing under Harry’s touch, about how good the cold feels against his skin. It’d be all too much, if he did.

“Did you…” Harry begins, and then he stops, focusing on his task. Niall knows better than to press him to continue. He can just imagine the way Harry might be chewing at his lip, figuring out the best way to phrase whatever it is he wants to ask. After a brief stretch of silence, Harry speaks up again.

“Is anything going on with you and Barbara?”

The question is tentative, careful. Niall’s thoroughly confused by it.

“Barbara?” he asks. He can’t imagine why Harry would think that. She’s a friend, sure, in the sense that they’re in the same bio class and share notes and study together sometimes. “No, why?”

Harry’s hands trail down Niall’s arms a little. He leans closer, to reach. His thumbs press against Niall’s triceps.

“Just, seemed like you were seeing her a lot. And what Sean said. After the party. About –”

Niall can’t help but huff out a laugh, moving his arms back more so Harry doesn’t have to lean in so much.

“That was ages ago, Harry. And Sean was just being an ass, we’re just friends.”

“Oh,” Harry breathes. Niall shakes his head, still chuckling. Harry runs his hands down to his elbows, and then back up, slowly. Niall starts to feel a prickle at the back of his neck that has nothing to do with his sunburn.

“Why?” he asks, after a moment. He can feel Harry shift closer again, can feel the heat of him against his back. He runs his hands down over Niall’s forearms.

“Um,” Harry replies quietly. His hands slow to a stop. Niall takes a slow, careful breath, and closes his eyes. He feels something twist deep in his gut.

“Harry – ” he begins. Harry just laughs quietly, lets go of his arms and pulls back.

“Sorry, um, I think you’re good, though. All aloe’d up,” he interrupts, his voice stilted and uncertain. He puts the cap back on the aloe, shifts toward the edge of the bed.

“Harry, wait,” Niall struggles to face him, reaches to grab his wrist before he can get away. Harry refuses to meet his eyes, cheeks flushed red. He’s chewing at his bottom lip. Niall tightens his grip on his wrist, reaches with his other hand to squeeze his arm. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, what he wants. He just knows he needs Harry to stay. He knows that sometimes he looks at him and he really wants to know how his lips taste. He knows that sometimes he thinks he might be half in love with him. Everything feels different, with Harry. It feels like more. Harry finally looks up at him, his gaze flickering between Niall’s eyes. All Niall can think about is the last time he fell for his best friend, how that all ended. But this time, it feels different. This time, it feels like Harry feels it too.

Harry’s next words confirm it.

“I don’t wanna be just your friend,” he finally speaks, quiet, like he’s afraid if he says it too loud something might snap. Niall feels his heart rise in his throat, thudding hard. He can’t help the hope that blossoms in his chest, the doubt that makes him feel slightly ill, the raw anticipation that thrums through his veins. He wants to tell Harry to stop. He wants him to keep going. He doesn’t say anything, and Harry continues. “I think about you too much. I like you too much. Yesterday, when we were all running around shirtless, I kept… looking at you, I came back and I had a shower and I – ”

“Jesus Christ Harry,” Niall cuts him off, pulls his hand from his arm to rub his face. He knows it’s flaming red, now, knows it has nothing to do with his sunburn. Knows it has a lot to do with the desire pooling in the pit of his stomach. Harry swallows hard, staring at him.

“I couldn’t help it. I want you. I didn’t know how to tell you. All I could think about was like, just, touching you…”

Niall can almost feel the trace of Harry’s hands over his shoulders, now, down the dip of his spine, the small of his back. He thinks about the rise and fall of Harry’s chest, his narrow hips, the way he would feel under his own hands, underneath him. There’s that same little voice in his head, telling him no. But Harry’s still looking at him and he’s got that dark look in his eye, that hunger. _Yes_ , Niall thinks back to the voice.

“God, please touch me,” is what he says out loud, barely a whisper. Because he’s afraid, too, of what it means, but he wants this too much to let it go out of pure cowardice.  Harry’s eyes widen in surprise. Niall can’t wait for him to react, though – he’s pushed these feelings back for long enough already, tried to suppress them for months and months. He reaches for Harry properly, all but throws himself against him really. Pushes him back against the mattress and kisses him hard. It takes a moment for Harry to start kissing him back. Like he’s having difficulty understanding that it’s really happening, that Niall feels the exact same way. And then he moans into Niall’s mouth, and a second later his fingers are scrambling to Niall’s hair, curling tight through the blonde locks, tugging sharply.

Niall reaches to grip his hips, hands fumbling, thumbs pressing against the bones. He gasps against his lips, shoving his tongue between them in a way that’s not at all careful, that’s all too desperate and sloppy. He wants this. _Needs_ it. Harry arches up against him, and then he pulls his hands free from Niall’s hair to grapple at his shoulders and run them over his back and down the curve of his waist, all over Niall’s heated skin. It burns. Niall’s hands find his bum, squeeze firmly. Harry groans, sucks hard on his tongue as Niall tries to pull his hips closer. He can feel him, hard against his leg. He wants more. He reaches around, fumbling to untie Harry’s shorts. Finally manages to get them undone and shoves his hand down them.

Harry gasps as Niall’s hand curls around him, spreading pre-cum over his length. He swears and pulls back from the kiss, breathing hard. Niall mouths sloppily at his jaw, where the faintest taste of sweat still lingers, salty and sweet. Nips at his skin and pumps his hand, steady, listening to the little sounds escaping Harry’s mouth. He trails his tongue down his throat, bites hard at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Harry ruts up into his hand, his own fingers curling tight around Niall’s thigh. It sends a shiver up his spine, to feel Harry’s fingertips digging into the sensitive skin there. Almost drives him crazy, the sheer intimacy of it all. He bites him again, savouring the way Harry jerks underneath him, the way he shifts his hips as his orgasm builds.

He lifts his head to watch Harry when he gets close, drinking in the way his mouth gapes slightly, the way his eyes go completely out of focus before fluttering closed. He leans to mouth his way further up his neck. When he nibbles at his earlobe, Harry swears under his breath and comes over Niall’s hand with a rough moan. Niall could almost laugh, if he weren’t so achingly hard, if he didn’t have Harry coming undone underneath him. He doesn’t know how he managed to avoid it for so long, this unquenchable desire, this need to taste every inch of Harry’s skin. Only that it feels like it could consume him, now.

He wipes his hand off on the sheets. Goes easily, when Harry tries to flip them, clumsy because he’s still spent.

“You don’t have to,” Niall tries, but they both know it’s bullshit. And Harry still takes his time, mouth trailing down his chest, sliding his joggers off his hips. He sucks a bruise over top of Niall’s ribcage. Niall drags his fingers through his hair, watches the way it falls between them. It’s almost mesmerizing. Right now, even the colour of it turns him on. And then Harry shifts down more and Niall pulls his hand back, grips at the duvet instead as Harry presses kisses down the line of his hip and finally takes him into his mouth. He tries to look at him, the way his lips stretch around him. It’s better than he could have ever imagined. He leans his head back again, once he’s got the image firmly imprinted there. Gives in to the feeling. It doesn’t take long for him to reach the edge, and he lets out a stream of profanities as he comes, as Harry struggles to swallow it down. It’s too much for Niall, watching him like that, seeing the way he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand when he’s done. Niall slumps back against the bed, slowly releasing the covers from his grip. He’s panting, still, didn’t even realize he’d started in the first place.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. Harry climbs up slowly, shakily, stumbles a little as he steps to get a glass of water. Niall watches, still caught in the haze of euphoria. Harry with his long limbs and broad back and slim waist, long hair.

“I think I love you,” he mumbles when Harry returns. Harry crawls next to him, struggles half heartedly to get under the covers before giving up, curling close to Niall and pressing his nose against his shoulder.

“Tell me that in the morning,” he mumbles back. His breath is hot against Niall’s skin. Niall pouts, shifts to try and get an arm around him. Harry gives in, wiggles closer so Niall can hold him properly. His breathing’s already gone slow, steady, like he used the very last of his energy to suck Niall off. Niall tucks his face in his hair and inhales deeply. It smells a little like vanilla. It’s the last thing he thinks about before he falls asleep.

 

-

 

Niall doesn’t tell Harry he loves him the next morning. Harry doesn’t ask him to. It feels like too much too soon, really, like a feeling that’s there but that he can’t quite be sure of yet. He just holds him close, traces his fingers over his skin. Lets Harry draw little patterns against his hip.

“There was a boy, in Detroit,” he tells him. It feels safe, now, to give the secret up. Harry’s certainly not going to tell anyone. “My best friend, then. Ever since we both joined the high school team.”

Harry shifts closer.

“I’m your best friend,” he says quietly. Niall laughs, kisses his cheek.

“Yeah, now you are. I thought I liked him, though. When I was seventeen, we were at his place playing video games, and I – I guess I was wrestling him for the controller, or something, and then we were kind of looking at each other. And then I kissed him.”

He lets out a breath. Harry reaches to stroke his hair, expression attentive and concerned. Niall laughs. It only sounds a little bit bitter.

“He flipped his shit. Called me all sorts of stuff, practically dragged me out of his house. Next day, the whole team knew,” he firms his lips into a line, trying not to let the old anger boil up in him. “Wouldn’t talk to me. Wouldn’t pass me the ball. Ran into me in the locker room. When they started tossing my stuff on the floor, I quit.”

Harry nods a little. Niall’s grateful to him, for not trying to say anything. For just listening.

“Threw a fit about it, at home,” he smiles a little, shaking his head, “came out to my dad. He was basically like, ‘so?’. Talked me into joining a different team, practically forced me to fill out the scholarship forms. When I got the acceptance letter for here, I thought they’d made a mistake.”

He smiles more, remembering how he’d made his dad read the letter three times over. Just to be sure it was real. Remembering how he’d all but started packing his things right then and there.

“When I got here, I was gonna just focus on the game. Not get myself in trouble, not make a splash. I didn’t want… all that, again. Buut,” he looks up at Harry, and smiles more. Harry smiles back, dimples pressing into his cheeks.

“Buuuut then you met me,” Harry finishes. Niall laughs.

“Yeah, you ruined everything basically. I’ll never be free of you, now.”

Harry shakes his head, trying to pull Niall in close again.

“Not if I’ve got any say in it.”

There’s a quiet beat, in which neither of them speak. Then, Harry pipes up, softer this time.

“I’m glad you weren’t ignoring me because of anything I’d done. I was so worried, after. That maybe you’d figured out how I felt and you were like, pissed about. I dunno.”

Niall swallows down the guilt that tries to climb up his throat, shaking his head and looking Harry in the eye. He rests his hand against his cheek, stroking his thumb along his jaw.

“I was just being stupid. I thought I was the one who had to change, thought I just… had to not like anyone. So I could avoid offending other people. But I’m starting to see that’s kinda backwards.” He wiggles closer to Harry, sneaks his fingers up through his hair. “I like you. And that’s what matters, you know? I’m kind of glad, about what happened back home. Because it brought me to you. How cheesy’s that?”

Harry leans to steal a kiss, lips soft against Niall’s. When he pulls back, he’s smiling again.

“Good and cheesy. Just how I like it.”

Niall groans at him, moves as if to wiggle away. But Harry squeezes him tight, keeping him there.

“We’re not Love, Actually Harry,” he grumbles. Harry only hums in reply, rolling half on top of him.

“We’ll get there.”

 

-

 

It’s a quiet sort of thing, and they’re not much different than before. Only Harry tends to stay over more often than not, and when they’re alone it’s hard not to kiss, to touch; hard for Niall to keep himself from revelling too much in this newfound freedom of feeling. Harry tries to make him watch Moneyball, and Niall spends the whole movie trying to kiss his neck instead. That sort of thing. If anyone else realizes, they don’t say. Not much else changes.

 

-

 

It’s the final stretch of the championship game. They’re tied, 2 – 2. Louis gets the ball, passes it off to Aiden. Aiden sends it skittering over to Niall. Niall turns, tries to take it to goal, but the defense are on him. His heart hammers against his ribcage as he looks around for someone, anyone to be open. He doesn’t have a clean shot to Matt, nor Aiden, he can’t see Louis – and then he hears a shout, sees Harry duck out from behind and start running across the open field. Kicks it to him.

It’s a perfect pass, ends up right in front of Harry’s feet and then Harry’s racing to the goal. The defense scramble to stop him, but he’s already taken the shot. It’s low. It flies right under the goalie’s outstretched arm. Niall feels his jaw drop open as the buzzer sounds. And suddenly, everybody’s cheering. Everybody runs, to pile on Harry. Niall, too. Harry breaks away from them, though, comes to meet him. Practically leaps on top of him, actually. Niall almost topples over because Harry isn’t exactly light, but he’s laughing, still struggling to catch his breath. Harry’s a solid, sweaty warmth in his arms and he’s got mouth pressed against Niall’s shoulder and Niall can feel him _beaming_. And his face hurts from smiling.

“Told you you’d get your fucking fairytale ending!” he exclaims, still unable to believe that’s how it all played out. Harry laughs. Niall can feel the way he’s practically vibrating with energy, buzzing with the win.

“I just, kicked it, and it went in! It actually went in! I didn’t think –”

Harry straightens up and kisses him, then, firmly on the lips. Niall can feel his heart pounding in a way that has nothing to do with winning the game. He’s not sure who saw the kiss. Not sure if he cares. He can figure it out later.

“I’m pretty sure I love you,” he breathes, when Harry pulls back. Harry’s grin stretches even wider. “Even in that fucking headband,” Niall adds for good measure. It doesn’t seem to phase him.

“Pretty sure I love you, too,” Harry whispers, and he kisses him again. And Niall thinks about his list of things that are home. His dad and his memories of Ireland, the stories he’d tell. His childhood house in Detroit, with the carpet and the 6 o’clock news. The soccer field when the ball’s at his feet, when there’s a clear line to the goal. He adds Harry in there, too. Harry inviting himself into his dorm and crawling into his bed and mumbling on about nothing until he drifts off to sleep. Harry arguing with him about who’s the best player of all time ‘cause he knows how much Niall loves to shut him up. Harry sitting there eating a damn salad, trying to feed Niall forkfuls when he thinks Niall’s not paying attention.

Harry anytime, really. Harry all the time.

 

-

 

-

 

 _Fin_.


End file.
